As eager as I am to have my children home and safe given the girl’s medical condition, I am also quietly panicking inside. I suspect I’m not the only one but obviously the ‘Laws of Mum’ dictate that I should feel tremendous guilt for feeling this, which of course I do, as all Mum’s everywhere, I feel guilty for everything, always and all the time, but that’s something for another day.
My internal panic is causing me to question how I will cope with seeing my children every minute of every single day for 12 weeks? OK, so this was kind of my life from the minute they were born until my maternity leave ended and I rejoined the adult world, something I have recently done for the third (and final) time. But now, suddenly, these kids are bigger, they’re not newborns and they will not sleep all day, which means I won’t either. They will expect to be entertained for every single minute (although I am pretty certain the first born will expect 24 hour tablet time) and they will be full of unused energy and probably end up hating me.
Therefore, like all organised individuals I am preparing for the apocalypse equivalent of homeschooling. I am obviously gathering craft supplies, ordering educational material and setting up a ‘work station’, my kids will all doing age appropriate activities and suitable learning and I will totally win at this homeschooling shit. Obviously on top of all of this, the house will be spotless, I will be a successful work at home Mum and each evening there will be a nutritionally balanced home cooked meal on the go. I will not attempt to contain their individual creativity by banning stuff like painting, glitter related crafts or anything with glue. Nor will I have a breakdown over cleaning, I vow not to say ‘fuck’ at home or bang any cupboard door in a fit of pure rage because I am the only person in the house who knows how the washing machine works.
Looking on the bright side, perhaps if they are all in the house they will realise that cleaning fairies do not descend in their absence and put all their clothes away, change their beds and clean the bathroom until it it’s safe for the little one to actually lick the toilet.
Obviously all of the above is complete bollocks and if anyone needs me, I’ll be hiding in whatever cupboard I can squeeze my fat ass into, drinking all the wine.
